


The Beginning With You

by PrintDust



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrintDust/pseuds/PrintDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to 'The Last Part'. It had been four days since the prison had fallen and he had yet to see any sign of his group. Alone was not a new sensation for him... The baby in his arms shifted in her sleep - well, not completely alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The foam mattress beneath him was the most comfortable that he'd ever laid on - its cushioned top moulded against his back snugly and he stared up at the support bars that held up the bunk above him. He was alone in the room that had been set up for four and he glanced around the space, his eyes searching through the shadows to inspect its furniture and artwork again. The woman who owned the house was nice enough; she'd given him roast beef for dinner and a pair of pyjamas to wear to bed. The fabric was scratchy and stiff against his skin like they'd been worn and washed many times and the collar felt like it was trying to suffocate him - he was used to sleeping naked.

Giving up on sleep he sat up with a heavy huff and pushed the Star Wars quilt off him. The sheets were stiff too…

Ain't she never heard o' fabric softener?

Twisting sideways, he lowered his head over the side of the bed to peer underneath it. He swept the shadows with his eyes before shifting and rolling out from the bottom bunk. The carpet felt new under his feet and he curled his toes into it before crossing over to the window that she had opened before leaving him alone. His palm rested against the mesh of the screen and it occurred to him that it was odd no one had put their fist through it yet, like the ones at his house - his old house, he corrected. There wasn't anything left of it now besides a pile of ash, charcoal and melted plastic.

He wondered briefly if they had found her yet or if she was just ashes too. Did they have funerals for people who could fit in an ashtray?

The backyard of the house was quiet and still. An old, tired oak tree lumbered in the far corner and stretched up towards the starry sky, like it was yawning. His thoughts drifted to the dusty pictures of his mother that his grandma kept on her mantel. In them his mother was a long-legged teenager, draped over the thick black rubber of a tire swing, her arms wrapped around the thick rope. He smiled as he imagined her face, tilted upwards as her laughter exposed a string of white teeth with a small gap between the front ones.

Coming back to the present he squinted at the night-filled yard, his eyes imploring the dark to reveal a swing like the one in the photos.

Just a shitty borin' good fer nothin' tree.

He pushed away from the windowsill and circled the room, his hands gripping his hair in tight clumps as his heart raced so fast and hard in his chest that he was sure it would break right through his ribs.

Weren't no swing and she weren't never comin' back.

Anger tore through his grief and his mind screamed the words that he couldn't because his throat was so tight that he could barely breathe. Hands fumbled and pulled at the fabric of his shirt until he'd broken or dislodged all the buttons and he stood there gasping for breath, rage licking through him. Still in the throws of his silent tantrum he stalked forward and swung at the screen with a clenched fist, popping it out of place. It landed somewhere in the shadowy yard.

The door opened behind him and a stout silhouette appeared, wrapped in a housecoat. He froze in place, his heart hammering loud enough that he was sure she would hear it. He raised his arms, flinching away from an assault that did not come and he slid down the wall, his knees drawn to his chest.

When she came to him her hand did not connect with him in anger or violence, but instead settled on his shoulder so lightly that he could barely feel it through his disheveled shirt. He knew her touch was intended to be comforting but he flicked it away with a swipe of his hand.

She rose and looked at him, her expression hidden by shadow, and then slipped from the room, drawing the door closed behind her. Leaving him alone.

XXXX

The prison loomed in the distance, hunkered down on the landscape - a broken fortress, unapologetic for how it had failed them. Daryl stood on the train tracks, one foot propped up against a rail while the other rested on the wooden crossbar. The breached prison yard was busy as the people from Woodbury packed up supplies into large canvas-backed military vehicles. He could hear their voices carrying across the distance and he bristled at their chattering and laughter.

It had been four days since the prison had fallen and he had yet to see any sign of his group. Alone was not a new sensation for him, he had spent much of his life that way. He did better on his own anyway - the thought came to him with an indignant air that deflated quickly. He'd grown accustomed to having the others around and it felt odd to him to be alone again, even more foreign that he actually gave a shit.

The baby in his arms shifted in her sleep and he looked down at her - well, not completely alone.

He checked her over again as she snuggled into his chest, her curled hand resting under her chin. She sighed in contentment and continued to sleep, her chest rising and falling with each steady, confident breath. Dark hair moved in the breeze, fine wisps that barely covered her pink scalp and she flinched in her sleep, her fine brows flicking together as she scowled and then relaxed again.

Daryl knew that he would have to move on soon. There were too many Walkers in the area and the threat of Woodbury still loomed over his head day and night. He needed supplies but he hesitated to go into town in case he had a run-in with the Governor`s army.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the tracks, using one arm to hold the baby and the other to support his weight as he took a seat. Once he was settled he shifted the baby onto his propped up knees and tapped her cheek to wake her.

Fussing her eyes scrunched closed and she arched her back, unhappy with his vexing. She grunted, a low throaty guttural sound that expressed her dissatisfaction.

"Hush, y`hear?" Digging through the bag he pulled out a bottle of premixed formula and sniffed it to make sure it smelled okay. It smelled awful but not spoiled so he pressed the stiff plastic nipple to Judith's lips. When she didn't accept it he tickled her mouth like he has seen Carol do in the past. The trick worked and she latched on and began to suck greedily, her hands reaching up to hold the bottle. Blue eyes watched him intently under heavy lids as she drank. They sat together and watched the sun begin to set on another day and he lowered his chin to block out the sight.

As darkness crept over the prison, the yard slowly emptied out. Slowly, Daryl picked his way down the hill and through the long grass then over the small wooden foot-bridge. He kept his body low to the ground and hugged the shadows, his entire body listening for the sounds of any people.

The guard towers were empty when he checked them. "Cocky son o' bitch," he cursed the Governor. "Huh, Lil' Ass Kicker?"

The baby was limp in his arms, her head lulled into his chest while she slept.

Using the cover of the army vehicles he approached a pile of supplies that had been tossed into the yard. He found mostly useless replaceable things: clothes and personal belongings. Something crunched under his foot and he lifted his boot to find that he had stepped on Judith's pink pacifier. He nudged things to the side until he spotted her yellow diaper bag that had been crammed into the box she had been using for a crib. He shifted the baby onto his shoulder and picked up the make-shift crib.

A door slammed behind him and he ducked down again then backtracked out of the yard. He slipped easily out of the prison vicinity and onto the highway where a mini-coop had been pushed into a ditch at the side of the road where he'd left it. Opening the side door he tossed the box onto the passenger seat and lifted out the diaper bag. Without looking inside it he threw it in the back seat. He glanced back in the box and found the doll he had given her months before when she had been a newborn.

Picking it up he found the thing's dress splattered with blood - probably Carol's. He wondered if she was a Walker now or if they had been decent enough to at least put her down - all of them.

Daryl lowered Judith into the box, his hands cupping the back of her head and her diaper covered bum. He took a moment to fix the blanket over her before tucking her doll into the spot between her and the side of the box. The seatbelt glided easily from its fixture and he stretched it over the box the inserted it into its clasp, securing the baby in place.

With a sigh he glanced back at the deserted highway with a fraction of the hope that he had once had. The hope inside him flickered and them dimmed and he climbed inside the car, settling behind the wheel. He guided the vehicle out of the ditch and accelerated away from the prison, his hand eventually coming to drape over the side of the box. It shifted and he felt soft baby skin touch his hand. Judith fumbled before finally grasping his finger and drawing it into her mouth.

"That shit's dirty, Judith," he pulled his hand back then winced as she began to wail. Looking down from the road he peered at his dirt caked hand for a moment before inserting his fingers into his own mouth to clean them. He wiped them off on his shirt, his eyes fixed on the highway and then returned his hand to her.

XXXX

We were strangers, Starting out on a journey  
Never dreaming, What we'd have to go through  
Now here we are, And I'm suddenly standing  
At the beginning with you


	2. Chapter 2

He pointed the car North and drove for hours until his eyes burned from lack of sleep. He held Judith to his chest and listened to the sound of her cries in his ear, his body tense at the constant sound. He'd cracked the window to let some fresh air into the vehicle in hopes of calming his own frayed nerves, but the accommodation did nothing to appease the hungry infant.

Guilt settled like a rock in the pit of his stomach that seemed to get heavier each time she hiccuped and looked to him, her tiny fists squeezed into tight balls. "There ain't nothin' I can do about it right now," he muttered defensively, pulling his eyes away from the road to look at her red, tear-stained face. He had reluctantly used the last of the formula powder that morning and even then it had been mostly water. He wondered when babies could start eating other kinds of food. It would be so much easier if he could just cook her up a squirrel.

Returning his eyes to the road, he came to a stop at a particularly dense traffic snarl. Craning his neck, he checked the shoulder of the road before swinging the wheel around and doing a u-turn, then pulled the wheel in the other direction to guide it onto a dirt road. He had hoped to stick to the highway as much as possible but in some stretches they were too jammed up, forcing him into more populated areas.

He eased into a small town after navigating some residential neighbourhoods first. The main street was mostly deserted but surprisingly intact compared to some others he had passed through. Ducking to peer under the sun visor, he counted the Walkers that shuffled along the sidewalks and in the doorways of shops and cafes. The roadway itself was littered with garbage and dried out corpses and he eased the vehicle around the obstacle course.

Judith's head moved from side to side and she braced herself on his chest with both forearms as she looked at their surroundings, still crying softly. Her blue eyes swam in thick tears and her lower lip pouted and quivered.

A soft ding captured his attention and Daryl looked at the gas gauge to see the red arrow settle on empty. He had known this was coming for miles now but gas was becoming a commodity that was increasingly difficult to find. Judith shrieked and jerked backwards, her legs pumping with excitement as she pointed towards a school bus, its STOP arm extended out across an intersection.

"Ya like that?" he asked her, following her finger's direction. He was turning his eyes back to the road when a colourful store-front caught his attention. The ground to ceiling windows featured a display of baby nursery furniture and tiny clothes. He spotted a sign that welcomed patrons to inquire about breast feeding inside. "What'ya think'? Want some take-out?"

Turning the key in the ignition he leaned over and laid Judith inside her box beside him. As soon as he released her she began to cry again, shaking the whole box as she squirmed. Peering over the side at the red-faced infant he put his index finger to his lips. "Shush," he reached in and put her hand in her mouth. She spat it out defiantly and continued to wail, fat tears sliding down over her temples. Giving up on her he opened the glove-box and pulled out two hunting knives. Their wooden handles fit comfortably in his hands and he cracked the car door open. Slipping out through a small opening he did a full scan of the street and the Walkers who had begun to close in on the car.

He looked at the store again, too far for him to sprint, and the baby's cries were attracting more of the undead to the car. Even if he made it to the store and back the car would be swarmed: he swallowed. If he died Judith would starve to death or bake in the Georgia heat. "Shit," he cursed, yanking the car door open and dropping back inside.

Starting the car again he reached into the box and rested his palm on Judith's chest to steady her. "How about some drive-through?" he asked pressing hard on the accelerator while simultaneously spinning the wheel. The car sped away from the gathering Walkers towards the store and he ducked as he went straight through the glass. The window frame crunched and tore away with the car and he brought it to a screeching halt.

Knowing that he didn't have much time, Daryl spared a quick glance at the baby to make sure she was okay. She was shaken up and had worked herself into a thrashing frenzy but otherwise appeared to be fine. Swinging his door open he scrambled out over the wreckage that the collision had caused. A basket sat on the still intact cashier's counter and he picked it up before making his way through the shop, scooping up anything that looked like it might be useful: some blankets, baby wipes, a package of bottles. He found the formula on a shelf and squinted at a sign that stated Breast is Best.

"Fresh outta those," he knocked the sign to the ground and grabbed the last canister on the shelf. The sound of raspy breathing and growling drew his attention to where the window had been and he quickly made one more quick sweep of the store, swiping diapers and clothes into his basket. A thin book caught his attention and he picked it up and jammed it in his pocket. Black and grey mottled hands clawed at the thunk of the car as the Walkers clamoured to get to him. The car itself was wedged tightly enough into the space that they were not able to get into the store, but he knew it was a matter of time before they began climbing over the vehicle. Daryl slid back inside the car and reversed out of the store, crushing the Walkers underneath his tires.

It was dark when the car sputtered and the engine seized before cutting out. Huffing, he looked at the highway around him, a long black strip like satin in the moonlight, lined by thick forest on both sides. He checked to make sure the doors were locked and then climbed into the cluttered backseat. Sweeping things to the side he fell back against the seat and began sorting through the supplies he had collected since leaving the prison. A small flashlight cut a thin beam of light though the dark and he held it between his teeth as he grabbed a bottle of water and a can of formula. He mixed the powder and water inside a bottle by giving it a thorough shake.

Daryl glanced between the seats to confirm that Judith was asleep before he turned his body so that he was lying down, his feet jammed against one door, his head against the other. He shifted uncomfortably and curled up. "Couldn't'a suggested a bigger car, huh?" Sliding his hand around the chair in front of his he rested his hand against the side of the box and closed his eyes, allowing his body to rest for the first time in days.

XXXX

The small gymnastics studio that they had been staying in for almost a week had been an ideal temporary home. The group had made beds for themselves, curled up on the blue mats and the trampoline – both surprisingly comfortable after months of sleeping on the frozen earth and in moving vehicles. They were all sad that they had to move on but the area had become too hostile with merging hordes of Walkers.

Leaving the others to finish packing, Daryl stepped back inside to do a final sweep and make sure they hadn't forgotten anything. He cocked his head at finding the small office door cracked open and he approached it on silent feet. Using his foot he nudged the door open and froze as he realized he was intruding on a private moment. Brown hair draped over smooth lean shoulders - naked shoulders that carved down into an equally naked back. The woman who had been struggling to clasp the hooks of her bra startled and grabbed her shirt from the desk beside her.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, pulling the fabric up to cover herself.

Daryl averted his eyes and stood half poised to run. "What're you doin' in here? We're all ready to go."

Turning her back to him again she slipped her shirt over her head. "I needed some breathing room," Lori explained, pulling her loose braid out from where it had gotten caught inside her shirt.

Turning around to leave he paused again. "You aren't talkin' about needin' space," he pointed out slowly, his voice unsure. "We all see ya, tuggin on yer, uh," he nodded towards her chest.

Lori shrugged and crossed her arms over the gentle swell of her belly. "Bra?" she challenged, her mouth twisting into a shy smile. "It's kind of tight… uh, pregnancy stuff… things," she waved her hand dismissively. "It isn't a big deal, just uncomfortable."

Daryl nodded, unable to meet her eyes, and then stepped out into the hall. "Why don't ya get another one?" he asked, propping the door open for her, watching her as she picked up her bag.

Her fingers played with the straps, twisting them around her wrists uncertainly. "Rick, he doesn't… When I try to talk to him," her eyes watered and she looked down. "I don't want to push it and make things worse."

Every part of him threatened to kick his own ass if he didn't get the hell out of there but he remained rooted to the floor. If Rick couldn't swallow his pride long enough to get her what she needed, then someone else would have to. "I'll take you on a run then," he shrugged off her wide-eyed expression. "Don't wanna damage the food supply. Baby's gonna need it."

Lori laughed, a slow nervous chuckle then stiffened when his expression remained serious. "Sorry," she slid her bag over her shoulder and wrapped herself up in a hug. "I didn't mean to laugh."

"Gotta do what we gotta do to make sure that baby gets what it needs." Daryl took a step back to accommodate her in the narrow hall as she passed him. "And stop apologizin' all the damn time," he muttered, doing a quick sweep of the room before he fell into step beside her. "People are gonna start thinking yer actually doin' somethin' wrong."

He woke to Judith crying and tumbling inside her box as she tried to turn over in the confined space. Uncurling his body, he winced as his bones and muscles protested with a series of pops and cramps. The baby reached for him when he peered over at her between the seats, her tiny hands grasping at the air.

Sliding his hands underneath her, he lifted her into the backseat and held her up so he could smell her diaper. She seemed to be dry so he settled her against his chest and retrieved the bottle that he had made up earlier. "You want this?" he showed her the bottle. Pulling himself fully upright, he leaned against the door behind him and settled Judith on his knees. She watched the bottle wide-eyed, her feet pummeling against his stomach in her excitement and she let out a high pitched squeal.

"Maybe we should change your name to 'Lil Fat-Ass," he suggested, plugging the bottle into the eager baby's mouth. She began to suck the formula back in long swallows and he watched her drink until his tired eyes dragged themselves closed. His chin settled against his chest and he allowed himself to drift off into a half-sleep, listening to the steady rhythm of her eating.

As his body lulled into sleep his hand dropped, sliding the bottle down. He shook himself awake when her starfish hand brushed then grasped his knuckles, settling over them. Her other hand rested on the bottle, holding it up.

"You helpin' me?" he asked, tilting his head as she watched him intensely. Slowly he removed his hand from under hers and released his hold on the bottle. Judith held it up on her own for a few seconds before it dropped to rest against her belly. Before she sucked too much air he lifted it up again, this time his hand covering hers. "Look at you, feedin' yerself. Yer gonna be holdin' a colt revolver any day now, huh?"

Her lips suction on the bottle broke with a pop as she smiled around the nipple and laughed. Daryl chuckled too. "Would you like that? Daryl to get you a six-shooter?" The baby's shriek gave way to a string of babbling and he lifted her to his chest and listened to her spit out vowels and consonants, her voice determined.

Suddenly she stiffened in his arms and a putrid smell filled the car. Scrunching his nose he slid his hands under her arms and held her straight out in an attempt to get some breathing room. "Ya smell like a damn Walker," he stated firmly. "Forget feedin' yerself, when'r ya gonna learn to change yer own shitty diapers?"

XXXX

The asphalt was hot enough under his feet that the soles of his boots almost felt gummy as though they were melting. Dragging his forearm across his hairline he pushed a thin sheen of sweat away before it could collect in his eyebrows and drip into his eyes. The sun punished his bare arms and the back of his neck and he kept his face turned down to protect it from burning too.

He'd left the baby bare except for her diaper in hopes of keeping her from overheating. She seemed to be content for the time being, strapped to his chest in a pocket sling made from a blanket and binder twine. She babbled constantly, her words muffled by her hand that dripped with saliva after being gummed all morning. He didn't mind the drool or babbling as long as she wasn't crying or shrieking like she did most of the time. Daryl closed one hand around her milky ankle and tucked her chubby leg back inside the sling. "Keep yer limbs in," he instructed her firmly. "If they get burned I ain't gonna feel sorry for you."

The baby looked up from the button that she had been inspecting. Her blue eyes met his and she reached up to grab a fistful of his shirt, releasing a stream of short sounds that almost seemed like words. "You sassin' me off?" Pulling the blanket to the side he reached in to touch her velvety cheek.

One of Judith's pudgy hands caught his finger and she wrapped the tip up in her tiny fist. Daryl stroked the dimples on her knuckles for a moment before taking his hand back and closing the blanket again.

He shifted the heavy load on his back and pulled on the tethers to tighten the straps. He'd packed as much as he could afford to carry into the large hiking pack and abandoned the car on the side of the road. He already missed the ease of sailing along the highway in a vehicle and he wondered what had become of his old bike. He missed it now and he hoped they'd come across another one. Maybe a Chopper - he'd bolt a baby-seat to the back of it for Judith until she was old enough to sit between him and the front end.

Daryl stepped off the asphalt and crunched along the gravel shoulder of the highway, then carefully descended into the grassy ditch at the side of the road. The tree coverage provided some much appreciated protection from the sun. He weaved in and out of the spindly white pines that made up the tree line, his attention divided between their surroundings and his thoughts about where they were going.

He'd made an unconscious decision from the moment he had steered the car north after leaving the prison, but he hadn't convinced himself to fully accept his plan. Daryl tried to keep his life as simple as possible but somehow things had managed to complicate themselves around him and he'd been swept up in it.

He'd almost suggested his current plan a dozen times over the winter after losing the farm, and even when things with the Woodbury had begun to escalate, but he'd resisted - he wondered now how differently things would have turned out if he'd spoken up and made the suggestion that made his skin crawl. Yet here he was, following through with the plan that every part of him wanted to abandon. Unfortunately, the idea of his Grandfather's arsenal, hidden away under the old floorboards of his bedroom closet, were too tempting. He figured that the extensive collection of firearms would still be there; other than his grandparents, he and Merle had been the only ones who'd known about it. And he was sure his grandparent's would've been picked off quickly - neither had much of a brain in their heads.

A skittering sound over his shoulder caught his attention and he turned to inspect the woods around him. He'd delved further into the forest, far enough that he couldn't see the highway anymore. After giving his surroundings a long look and finding nothing he shook himself. "Damn pussy," he muttered.

In her sling Judith shifted and began to fuss, her legs pulling up until she could wrap her fingers around her toes. Daryl pulled the fabric back to look at her face, scrunched up with frustration.

"What's all that for?" he asked the infant, coming to a stop.

The baby's features twisted and she let out a wail, loud enough that the hair on the back of his neck raised. Releasing her feet she scrunched her hands into fists and tumbled head-first into a tantrum.

Daryl reached inside the sling and touched her cheek. "Hush yerself now," he grumbled. "Tryin' to attract every damn Walker around here?" He glanced around and then returned his eyes to the baby again who had grabbed hold of his finger and was working it towards her eager mouth, her cries turning into impatient grunts.

Rolling his eyes Daryl pulled his hands away, ignoring her cries as she arched her back and kicked furiously. He pushed the straps of his pack off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground with a heavy thud. Wrapping one arm around her squirming body, Daryl steadied the baby against him and began to crouch down while turning to get her a bottle. A movement in his periphery made him freeze and he snapped his head to the side, coming face to face with a Walker, its face grey and black – skin pulled tight over bone like a mask. It lunged at him, its clawed fingers arched to rip his flesh and Daryl startled, falling backwards to land painfully on his tailbone.

Using his foot he hooked the strap on his pack and kicked, launching it upwards into the Walker's chest, forcing it to stumble. He used its distraction and pulled his gun out of his shoulder holster. He fired a single shot, blowing the right side of the Walker's head clean off in an explosion of skull fragments and rotting brain matter. The baby startled against him and increased her wails.

Daryl almost breathed a sigh of relief until the woods came alive around him as Walkers began to spill out from behind the trees, weaving their way towards him. He slipped his hand inside the sling and pulled the baby's head towards him to protect one ear while he kept the other covered with his hand. Raising the gun he took down the two Walkers closest to him and pushed himself to his feet.

His mind raced to form a plan and he looked around the woods, taking a few calming breaths. The baby's cries were setting him on edge so he blocked them out and focussed on deciding what to do next. The tree closest to him provided the answer as his gaze caught on its even branches, jutting in an alternating pattern up its heavy trunk.

Daryl took the tree at a running leap and used the branches as a ladder to climb it. He hung on with one arm and used the other to lift the sling over his head and hang it as high as he could reach. Once the baby was secured in place he jumped back down, his feet hitting the ground with enough force to snap the twigs that littered it.

He expected the quickly approaching Walkers to follow him as he darted away from the tree towards another that he intended to use for cover, but they gathered around the tree where he had left Judith crying, suspended just out of their reach. Daryl managed to take down two more Walkers with his gun before the cartridge clicked over – empty. He counted five of them left, clawing at the thick bark on the tree, growling as rasping as they fought each other like crabs in a tank.

Though no others had appeared as far as he could see, he knew more would could come, attracted to the gunshots and the baby's steady cries. He knew that he had to get out of there as soon as possible or he would have no way of fighting them off on his own.

He stayed out of the small herd's periphery as much as possible and slinked towards his pack. The rope he'd packed was still twisted into a neat bundle and tucked into a side pocket, he pulled it out and untied the small knot that held it together. It came loose and the end fell to the floor at his feet. He secured it into a Honda knot easily and crept up behind the group of distracted Walkers. When he was close enough he dropped the lasso over two of the dead and tightened the loop with a hard tug then dragged them backwards to the closest tree where he tied them.

The rest were easy to manage with his knives. They went down with a quick stab to the head, falling into a tidy pile at Daryl's feet. He glanced over his shoulder at the Walkers still tied to the tree like rabid dogs, snarling and pulling at their bonds, their arms stretched out towards him.

He retrieved Judith from the tree and held her squirming and shaking to his chest, her blanket a jumbled mess tangled around her limbs. He lifted her free from the sling and let it fall to the ground while he inspected her heaving chest and bare bowed legs. Sliding one arm under her bum and the other around her back he held her to his chest and smoothed the back of her head, rocking her as he made his way back over to his pack.

Crouching down, he dug through it, searching for the pacifier that he had taken from the store during his raid. He finally gave up when he had torn everything from the bag and he found his fingers scratching against the canvas bottom. The baby sat rigid on his forearm, her hands balled at her sides as she wailed, drool dripping from her chin to her bare chest that shuddered with each sob.

"Shit," he sat back on his heels in the pile of clothing and supplies and laid his palm over the back of her head, then guided it to his chest. "Here," he took one of her walnut sized fists and guided it to her mouth, then held it there until she found a steady sucking rhythm and she began to soothe herself, her cries quieting to small hiccups. "There ya go, sweetheart. Yer alright," he rested his cheek against her downy hair. "I ain't gonna leave ya."

XXXX

The rusted, broken TV tray swayed under his foot and he tested its limits by putting more weight on it. The metal bowed but didn't break, though it tipped on the uneven packed dirt ground, sliding the plastic ashtray towards the side where it hung dangerously over the edge. Daryl lifted his foot off it and pulled the ashtray towards him, back to the middle of the table. His fingers lingered on its ashy side and he picked up a half-smoked cigarette from the inner bowl. Turning it over in his fingers he fished the lucky Zippo out of his pocket and placed the cigarette between his lips. Using his hands to block the slight wind he lit the already burnt end and took a few puffs, his eyes flicking impatiently to the trailer beside him.

The whole thing rocked on its cement blocks and he could hear the woman Merle was fucking inside, moaning like a fucking cat in heat. Rolling his eyes he slid further down in the white plastic chair and listened to them grunting and groaning. He could hear Merle muttering shit to her, his voice heavy and full of breath, drifting easily through the thin metal walls of the trailer.

After another moment he got to his feet and stood on his toes to peer through the small mud, splattered window. He could see the microwave oven taking up the only counter space in the small kitchenette. He smacked his palm against the window in frustration. "We're late," he yelled, pounding the glass again. "Hurry the hell up or we'll miss it!"

He kicked off the side of the trailer and stalked away as the door opened to reveal a red-head wearing nothing but small panties, the triangular crotch barely enough to cover her. Daryl stared at her tits, topped with perfect nipples and he felt his pants tighten. His cheeks flushed the colour of her hair and he stepped behind the lawn chair, averting his eyes to her bare toes.

She giggled and caught the dress Merle tossed to her. Pulling the loose fabric over her head she slipped her feet into a pair of sandals and stepped down onto the ground. Daryl couldn't help but sneak a peek at her boobs as they jiggled inside her dress, sans bra.

She sauntered around the house and disappeared as Merle came out of the trailer, tucking his t-shirt into the waistband of his jeans.

"Let's go then," Merle started towards his truck. "Or do you want somewhere to put that stiffie? I can call Mandy back…"

Daryl shuffled after his brother, his cheeks burning with shame and embarrassment. He got in the passenger seat of the car and stared straight ahead.

"Don't get a sore head, little brother," Merle reached over to give him a firm punch to the side of his head. "That there is nature's finest gift to you. Use it wisely and don't waste it."

Daryl slid down in his seat. "Can we talk about somethin' else?"

"I'm just sayin-," Merle started the truck.

"I said shut the fuck up about it," Daryl snapped, turning to look out his window.

Merle pulled the truck around the front of the house and guided it down the long lane that would take them out to the main road. They sat in silence, listening to the wheels crush dirt and gravel under their thick bald rubber.

"What if the court says I can't live with you?" Daryl asked when they'd cleared the mailbox. "What if they make me stay with Grandma?"

Merle kept his eyes on the road and Daryl watched his jaw clench as he worked it. When he didn't answer the question Daryl popped open the glove-box and pulled out a pack of Players. He lit one for Merle, and then himself. Instead of smoking it though, he watched the smoke drift from the tip in long snaky streams. Finally he put it to his mouth, took a long drag and cranked the window. He laid his head back slowly to rest against the back of his seat and watched the scenery slip away.


	3. Chapter 3

The blue canvas tarp crinkled under him as he shifted in the hammock he had fashioned from it. He'd lined it with a thick Coleman sleeping bag and tied it to the trunks of two thick old-growth Oaks. It had been tricky trying to climb in without tipping it and dropping the baby, but they'd eventually managed and had found a comfortable position – him on his back with Judith sitting on his chest. He'd slid his hands around her back to hold her upright, his fingers extended to brace her back.

He watched her silently, listening to her babbling one-sided conversation as she stared into his eyes. Her expression shifted into an expectant squint and she paused, her mouth formed into a small 'o'.

"What?" he asked, shrugging. "I don't know what in the hell yer goin' on ab-." His words were cut off by her bare foot connecting with his mouth. "Shit," pulling one hand from her back he reached out to grasp her pudgy ankle as she burst out laughing.

Looking up he tried to mask his amusement with feigned annoyance. The baby's whole body shook with a hard belly laugh and she squealed with delight. "Ya think that's funny, huh?" He pulled her foot forward and playfully bit her toes, careful not to bite down too hard.

The baby shrieked again and almost toppled over. He scooped his hand around her back again quickly to hold her upright and then slid his thumbs around the front, lifting her under her arms in one easy motion. Daryl held her overhead and her chubby arms and legs dangled over him. Slowly, he lowered her until their noses touched and he stared into her eyes until they blurred and crossed into one.

Judith reached out with both hands and stacked them on top of his nose, pushing down so that when he spoke his words sounded nasal. "We're going somewhere and I ain't even sure I wanna go…"

Her expression remained serious as she looked at him, as though sensing his mood. Daryl lowered her to lie down on his chest and he listened to the sound of her grunting as she tried to push herself up. He reached out to help her into a crawling position, her rounded knees digging into his stomach. Her hands braced themselves on his chest, fingers spread wide and she rocked, giggling.

Daryl held her in place with one hand and reached into the pocket of his black jeans. He pulled out a book and released her so that he could crack the spine. Judith managed to keep herself in her crawling position and he turned his attention to the book after taking a moment to wipe the drool off her chin.

His flipped forward and scanned the page that detailed the five-month developmental milestones for infants. Licking his thumb he pushed the pages back to four-months, and then forward to six, wondering how old she was. "You could be a retard and all delayed and shit and how'm I supposed to know if I ain't got a clue how old you are?"

He continued to read the book, starting at five months – he figured she was born in May… looking up at the twiggy canopy above him he frowned at how sparse the leaves had become. For a man who had lived most of his in tune with the natural world he was surprised he hadn't noticed the shifting in the seasons. Raising his hand he felt the air – in the last few weeks since being on the road the texture of it had shifted from dry and thin to become thicker, damper.

The baby reached forward, supporting herself with one shaky arm and grabbed the top of the book. He looked up in time to see her surprised expression as she wavered then slid sideways and tumbled off him. She struggled like a turtle on its back, caught between him and the side of the hammock, and he watched her for a moment before returning his attention to the book.

"Well, ya seem to be alright then…" he lifted his head to look down at her, her fingers wrapped around her feet, pulling her toes into her mouth. "Says here I ought'ta brush your teeth," reaching down he pinched her lower lip with his fingers and pulled it back, releasing a stream of drool out of the corner of her mouth and down her cheeks. He peered at the four small teeth at the front of her mouth then released her lip and laid back down. "Ain't hardly got none - ya look like my Dad… that was the meth though."

He scanned the pages then slid the book back in his pocket to turn his thoughts to the weather. If it was going to get cold he would need to get her a hat and something to keep her hands warm. He made a mental list of the items they would need to prepare for the winter and he hoped that the snow would hold off. The higher they climbed the colder it would get and the last thing he needed was either of them getting sick before they reached their destination.

Turning onto his side he pulled the flap of the sleeping bag over them and tucked Judith into the crook of his arm. She'd begun to go limp against him, tuckered out from her playful antics. He lifted his head to check the small camp again, and finding no Walkers in the vicinity, laid down to rest. Judith was warm, snuggled into his chest, her smooth forehead resting against his bicep. She stretched against him and yawned, her mouth opening wide to reveal more tiny nibs of white protruding from her gums. As she came out of her stretch she curled into him and he closed his hands around her tiny bare feet then tucked them closer to him.

XXXX

"The court orders that thirteen-year-old Daryl Dixon will remain in the sole custody of his maternal Grandmother and Grandfather. Older brother Merle Dixon will retain his access for visitation contingent on a clean lifestyle in which he will abstain from being under the influence of any drugs or alcohol in the child's presence." The old judge pulled his thick caramel coloured glasses off this nose and placed them on his desk next to a stack of court documents.

Daryl ducked his head as he signed them and then passed them off to the clerk – he allowed his hair to fall into his eyes to hide the tears that were building regardless of his efforts to control them. Merle stood up from the long wooden bench and brushed past him to exit the courtroom.

His Grandmother rested a hand on his shoulder, one purple painted nail scratching his skin as she ran her thumb over cheek. "I'll meet you at the Registry outside in the lobby. You can ride back with us."

Daryl kept his eyes fixed on the back of the bench in front of him and he traced the spirals and knots in the wood. Her hand shifted to grasp his face and she forced him to look up at her. "This is the best thing for ya, so stop sulking – I'm sick of lookin' at yer face like that."

Without another word she bustled out of the courtroom, his Grandfather following a few steps behind. Sighing, Daryl slid off the end of the bench and shuffled through the large double swinging doors. The lobby was busy and he looked at the anxious faces on the people who lingered around the door for their turn. Shoving his hands into his pockets he spotted his Grandparents waiting in a line on the opposite side of the large space. Ducking his head he stepped outside into the brilliant sunlight and squinted, looking for his brother.

He spotted Merle leaning against the bed of his truck, a cigarette in each hand, one of them lit. Dragging his feet over the smooth asphalt of the parking lot he swallowed back the tears that were threatening to fall. He knew his eyes would be puffy but there wasn't a whole lot he could do about that – he just hoped that Merle wouldn't notice.

Silently he pivoted when he reached Merle's side and dropped back against the truck too, his arms crossed over his chest. He kept his chin low, waiting for the man beside him to say something. When he didn't, Daryl looked up at him, "What do we do now? Run away?"

Merle sucked his teeth and spit, a small glob of saliva that sailed cleanly through the air before splattering to the cement several feet away. "Nah," he pushed himself away from the tailgate and clapped Daryl on the shoulder before lumbering around the back of the truck.

"Where are you goin'?" Daryl followed him to the driver's side door where Merle reached through the half-rolled window to pop the lock from the inside.

His older brother pulled the rusted door and Daryl stepped out of the way so it wouldn't clip him as it groaned open. "Got me a plan, little brother," Merle slid inside. "Figured if this didn't turn out I'd join the army," he looked to Daryl then, for the first time since the judge had made his decision, and he could see something there that he hadn't seen before… like Merle was asking his permission, or worse, seeking his approval.

Pain hit him like a punch to the chest, a ball that scraped its way up from his heart, too large to fit inside him. "Yer just gonna leave? Just like that?" The ball reached the back of his throat and made his voice break, bringing with it fresh tears, so thick and raw that they burned his eyes. "You can't just leave."

"Why not?" The anger that had lived in Merle's eyes, the hardness, had returned, burying whatever emotion had been there before. "Why shouldn't I? They said I can't have ya - I can't… I can't be here if I can't have you."

"Better ta have a sorta brother than none," Daryl reached forward to wrap his fingers around the window well. "We can try again – we'll be on time, we'll wear a damn suit!"

Merle's fist came like a rock and connected against his jaw, moving so fast that he didn't have time to respond with anything but a flinch. Daryl lost his grip on the door and fell back until he landed on his ass, his hands moving out to brace himself against the impact.

He didn't get up, he couldn't. His hand moved to rest against his aching jaw and he lifted his eyes to meet Merle's. "You can't go," his face was stiff and he could feel it starting to bruise and swell. "If you go I ain't got no one left. Just some locked up loser dad 'n them – they don't even care about me."

The door groaned again as Merle stepped out and hope flooded his chest – it was only in its presence that he realized what a lack of it there had been for a long time. He accepted his older brother's extended hand and even let him pull him into a hug, one so tight that it knocked the wind out of him. He stiffened in Merle's embrace as he realized that it wasn't a promise to stay, but a goodbye. "Maybe they're right. Maybe it's best for you to stay with them. They can provide things I can't."

"Merle," panic flooded through him and he tried to hold on tighter when he was pushed back. He stumbled but caught himself as Merle climbed inside the truck again and started it. "Merle!" He lunged forward to grab the handle of the truck as it accelerated forward, but his hands slid uselessly over it.

He watched the pick-up peel out of the driveway and around the side of the courthouse and his legs turned to jelly. He gritted his teeth and his hands as tight as he could, turning his loose muscles to rock. He imagined his whole body turning hard, growing a shell – armour. The tears of sadness turned to ones of anger, and then stopped altogether until he was standing there, somehow changed.

XXXX

The next morning came like a punch to the chest as he sucked in the icy air. Breathing out he watched his breath cling to the air like a cloud before it dissipated into nothing. Daryl looked down to find Judith still sleeping, her fist curled and hanging from her mouth. She looked so pale and still against him and he jerked his hand over to touch the chilled skin of her cheek. She didn't move and he patted her placid face softly, then a little harder, feeling his heart rate speed up. Slowly, her papery eyelids fluttered then opened to reveal blue orbs that were filled with curiosity and surprise.

The pounding in his chest slowed and he watched her brow pinch into sharp angles as she looked up at him, still sleepy. Her face relaxed and rounded again and she smiled, uncurling her hand to reach for the stubble on his chin. Slobbery fingers patted the corner of his mouth and she babbled, her infliction rising to end in what sounded like a question.

Daryl breathed a sigh and lifted her onto his chest – he sat up slowly, holding her in place against him. His jacket had been tossed over the end of the hammock, near his feet, and he snagged it to wrap around her kicking, squirming limbs.

"Almost a year since we all found out about ya," he told her, shifting to climb out of the hammock. He let his feet dangle over the edge before slipping off to land on the ground. The baby jostled and her forehead collided with his mouth while he steadied himself – her skin was warm and he found himself pressing a kiss to her hairline.

"Thought your Ma was a goddamn idiot, y'know. Fer havin' you – for openin' her legs in the first place, if ya wanna know the truth," he muttered to her while he crouched down to retrieve a bottle and formula from his pack. "But… I'm kind of glad she did. Yer a pain in the ass, just like her, but that's alright, I guess. Since I kind of like havin' you around."

The baby watched wide-eyed as he tipped some water into her bottle and she reached for it eagerly.

"Hold on there," he shifted her onto his other side and shook the bottle to mix the liquid and powder. "You sure like this shit, huh?"

She eagerly accepted the bottle into her mouth and he took a seat on the ground, laying her down on her back. He reached inside his bag and got out a clean diaper and some little pajamas with some feet sewn onto them. "Wait 'til you try some squirrel… maybe some bear. Now that's what I'm talkin' about. Or maybe I'm gonna cook ya up some venison… in the meantime we gotta keep those chompers clean though. "


	4. Chapter 4

Green slime had built up along the edge of the pond; it clung to the shore, barely jostled by the lapping water. Daryl jabbed at it with a stick and lifted some stringy plant residue upwards. He peered at it curiously before flinging it towards the middle of the pond. It plopped and sank into the murky water and he laughed at the sound.

Carefully, he made his way toward the shore, his father's too large boots sticking in the mud, suctioning with an audible gulp of air. His legs worked hard as he pulled them free with a 'plop'. He laughed again and tugged until he lost his balance. Tipping over, he landed palms first onto the muddy ground, one foot in one boot, the other out beside him, bent toes bracing his fall. The thick mud soaked through the cotton of his sock and he turned to sit on his bottom and inspect his filthy waterlogged knees.

Getting to his feet again he slid his foot back into the large work boot and hauled the laces until they were taut, then dropped them, unsure of how to tie them properly.

Pushing his hair back off his face he picked up the small collection of rocks that he had piled up nearby and made his way back to the house that sat at the edge of the ravine. They'd been staying with his Grandparents since his daddy had lost his job – he didn't really like his Grandma, she was pretty grumpy, but he figured she was an okay cook.

He rounded the house and laid his collection on the porch next to the steps, then headed inside, dragging his feet to keep the boots on. His Ma and Grandma were smoking in the kitchen, and he could barely hear their voices over the hum of the television as his Daddy and Grandpa stretched out across the furniture, each nursing a beer in one hand and one of his dad's special cigarettes in the other – the ones he rolled by himself.

Leaving a streaky, muddy handprint on the wall, he steadied himself as he slid his feet out of the boots. His sock squished against the carpet and he looked down at the mess he'd made, then cast a nervous glance at his daddy who turned his head in time to catch the look.

"What'ch'a doin' there, son?" he asked, grunting as he turned on the couch arm to peer over the tall winged back.

Daryl swiped a hand over his cheek, leaving a streak of mud, and cast his eyes to the ground again. "Was just out playin' by the pond," he explained quietly.

"Speak up there, Daryl. What'ch'u sayin?"

Clearing his throat, he raised his quivering voice. "Mama said I could go out n' 'splore…"

"Mama say you could wear my boots, too?" he asked, draining the last of his beer before tossing it onto the table, where it rolled off the edge and landed on the carpet silently. His Grandpa grunted at the sight then turned his attention back to the TV.

His daddy got up, moving slowly, and Daryl planted his feet onto the ground, his heart picking up speed. He stared straight ahead at grass and oil residue stained denim jeans when they appeared in his line of sight, and he fought the urge to run – running only made him angrier.

"Well?"

Shaking his head slowly, Daryl raised his chin all the way back until he could see the face that loomed over him. "No, sir."

"No, sir," the words came with a rush of laughter that was more of a huff, and then he repeated them more thoughtfully, "No, sir…"

Tears prickled his eyes and Daryl swallowed, feeling his fear begin to intensify. A cold, violent shiver worked its way up his spine and his stomach cramped.

"Will, can't you leave that damn boy alone?" his Grandpa spoke up without looking over. "We'll get'ch'a another pair o' boots."

Anger ignited in his father's eyes and Daryl flinched as a hand closed like a vice around his shoulder and neck, squeezing, crushing. His feet left the floor and he squirmed, his face contorting his pain that he knew would only get worse. "I don't need no new boots and I don't need no goddamn charity!" At eye-level with his father now, Daryl could see the twitching muscles in his cheeks and along his jaw. The words were punctuated with a string of saliva that landed against Daryl's upper-lip, and he closed his eyes as he was dragged to the bedroom.

XXXX

Frosty leaves crinkled under his feet as he walked, his head bowed against the brisk cold snap that had whipped through the woody mountainside. Daryl had made a poncho out of a blanket and he'd tucked Judith underneath it to protect her from the temperature.

The cranky baby had developed a sleeping routine that seemed to defy logic, and his sleep-deprived eyes burned with exhaustion as he inspected the woods around them for any signs of movement. She slept now, in the mid-day, her head bobbing against his chest as he forced his body to take one heavy step after another. Reaching up, he rubbed one itchy eye with the back of his fist and yawned deeply.

His lip curled as Judith stirred against him, and he froze, hoping that she would simply doze off again. He found himself becoming increasingly short-tempered with her lately, and he wondered how Carol and Beth had cared for her on their own back when she had been a newborn.

He reminded himself often that she was just a baby, but on some occasions the excuse didn't feel adequate; he wondered if she was testing him on purpose. If maybe she was crying for the sake of crying and not because there was anything that she actually needed.

When she stilled against him now, and sighed, he continued to trek forward again, his hand moving to hold her round solid head in place. He was lucky that they hadn't come across too many Walkers this far into the woods, otherwise all the racket she had been making with her tantrums would have attracted them.

A glint in the distance caught his attention and Daryl squinted in its direction, his hand moving up to block the sun from his eyes. The small cabin blended easily into the woods around it, except the tin, crimped roof that had become a dumping ground for fallen leaves and branches. He trudged towards it and he raked his eyes over the woods, his sluggish, tired mind slowly processing what he was seeing.

He approached Ole' Trapper Joe's cabin, the ground suddenly as familiar as the back of his hand. A small laugh escaped the back of his throat as he realized they didn't have far to go now. He knew the old man had gone quickly in the beginning, and he hoped that the cabin would be as unoccupied as it appeared to be. Dark murky windows had collected dried twigs and leaves, and the front door was ajar – wide enough for a squirrel and maybe a cat to squeeze through.

He shoved the solid wood with his fingers and it gave way to a small dusty room, barely large enough for the single bed that dominated the half of it with an old pot-belly stove. He closed the door behind him and immediately approached the bed, while at the same time relieving his aching back of his heavy pack. It clattered to the floor behind him as he untied the knot at the back of his neck and pushed himself free of Judith's sling.

The bed was a filthy caked mess, covered in foliage, so he tossed off the top blanket before laying the baby down on the springy mattress. Immediately Judith began to fuss and thrash within the tangled confines of her sling, but he turned his back to her to check and secure the door, unable to find it within himself to comfort her.

His heart squeezed as he inspected the trinkets on the walls: an old band-saw, a washboard, scraps of metal and dried leather. Relief and stress battled for ground in his heavy mind as he realized he was a few hours hike from his Grandparent's house.

Leaning against the chinked log walls he peered out the window and took a steadying breath. He squeezed his hands into tightly balled fists, and then released them as he worked the pent up tension out of the muscles in his neck and arms. A heavy thud sounded against the floor behind him and he whipped around to find that Judith had rolled off the bed. She lay on her front, one arm pinned underneath her and the other sprawled at her side. Her forehead rested against the thick, rough plank and she struggled to roll over.

He approached her quickly and slid his hands underneath her, turning her in his palms as he raised her to eye-level. His pulse raced in his ears, roaring as he inspected the small 'o' shape of her mouth and her blue eyes, wide and full of surprise. His hands began to shake as he looked her over, relief riding on the coat-tails of an anger that caught him by surprise. "What the hell were you thinkin'?" he barked. "Are you stupid or somethin'?"

The baby startled at his voice and flinched, her body becoming rigid in his hands. She began to wail and tipped her forehead upwards, the motion revealing the bruise that had begun to form on the curve of her skull that eased into her hairline. He hushed her and pulled her closer, settling her onto his forearm so that he could inspect her forehead more closely. The sound of shuffling caught his attention and he looked between her and the back of the cabin where it had come from.

The small vent that opened up to the attached smoke-house was rusted in place and he peered through two calcified slats to find a group of Walkers piling up against the door. They'd eaten their way through the smoke-house, leaving raw-hide carcasses at their feet. Daryl hushed Judith again and flinched as the Walkers staggered toward and collided with the wall opposite him. "Shut it," he whispered and closed his free hand over her mouth. The baby turned her face to cry out of the corner of his palm and he backed away towards the door where they had come in.

More Walkers had gathered at the windows and against the front of the cabin. Spinning her around quickly, he closed his hands under her arms and held her up so that his eyes stared at hers that were screwed shut. Tears and snot covered her reddened face and he shook with desperation and frustration.

"Shut up!" his words came with a heavy shake that snapped her unsuspecting head back then forward again sharply. Her cries turned into a hitched pained sound and then a hiccup and she looked at him, stunned. The sound of her silence tugged him back into himself and he froze, too. Daryl's eyes darted to where he was white-knuckling her sides and he felt a breath rush from his chest. He laid her on the floor with trembling hands and backed away towards the door, his eyes fixed on her prone form and the tiny balls of her fists as she cried at the ceiling.

She turned to look at him through fat tears and her tiny fingers flexed as she reached towards him, her forehead marred with a purpled mark.

His back touched the vibrating door as Walkers pounded against it and he slid down the surface until he was crouched with his knees pulled tightly to his chest. Lifting his hands he closed his palms over his ears and squeezed his eyes closed.

XXXX

He turned the small stuffed bear over in his hands and looked into its black marbled eyes. Lifting it, he used its stomach to wipe the blood off his tender face and then tossed it to the side into a tangled heap of squishy limbs.

The door beside him cracked and he ducked his head into the dip between his knees, feeling fear swell to replace the emptiness in his chest.

"Daryl?" his mother's voice called softly and she eased her way inside the room. She hugged a loose grey cardigan around her willowy frame and paused in front of him, her toes curled and gripping the carpet. He looked at her feet through the sweaty, tear-soaked strands of hair that hung over his eyes and he shivered, curling further into the corner of the room.

"Let Mama see what he done," she lowered herself, her thin legs bending at bony knees that popped as they moved.

Turning his hot, aching face, he shied away from her touch, sniffling. He didn't want her to see what Daddy had done – what she had let him do. Cool fingers rested against his cheek and he swiped them away, silently begging her to just leave and ignore him like she always did.

She leaned in closer, her hand falling to his shoulder more forcefully. The smell of her morning coffee and wine wafted over him as she breathed and he shrugged her away, turning into the wall.

"Go 'way, Mama," he whispered.

She persisted, sliding her arm around his shoulder to guide him to her chest, and he pushed harder, shoving her away. She let out a sound that barely had any strength behind it and he knew she couldn't help him. She was as dangerous as he was because she was weak. He lashed out when she tried to close him into her grasp and he found himself clawing wildly – at her chest, her arms, her face.

"Daryl, stop it," Mama held him tighter, pinning his arms at his side. She fell backwards and landed on her butt. He collided with her chest and felt the fight drain from him. Crying silent tears he rested his temple against the sharp protruding lump that was her collarbone and he closed his eyes, giving in to her.

"I need ya, Daryl," she combed his hair back, picking the knots out of it. "Please don't hurt me."

XXXX

When he opened his eyes the cabin was silent except for Judith's soft coos. Pushing himself forward he crawled to her and took a second to glance at the windows at the front of the cabin. The Walkers had gone and he stared at the faded sunlight in confusion.

Judith babbled, drawing his attention to her and he looked down to find her reaching for him. Her blue eyes bore into his and he swallowed back tears as he slid his hands around her back and lifted her to his chest. She wavered against him and she curled her legs upwards as she tried to find her balance, sitting in the crook of his arm.

Reaching up he smoothed the purple and blue mark on her forehead, then moved his hand over her neck, down her back, and then over her limbs. She seemed to be alright and she leaned into him, her cheek finding his shoulder. Daryl looked to the ceiling and let a tear slip down his cheek as he fell back against the bed, scraping its brass legs over the floor with his weight. Judith sighed with her whole body and went slack, her fingers closing around his earlobe. Reaching up, Daryl combed his fingers over her feather-light hair and closed his eyes.

XXXXX

He cut along the steep fold in the land at the back of his Grandparent's acreage, his feet near silent on the rough forest terrain. He kept low, conscious of his visibility in contrast to the sandy cliff that stretched upwards above him, and he listened. The quiet of the woods around him was broken by the sudden eruption of the barks and howls of his Grandparent's hounds. Daryl raised his head, curious about what could have set them off. Circling the foot of the ledge, he wound his way up the more gradual slope in the direction of the house. He gripped the pulpy limbs of trees to steady himself and took short breaths that caught in his lungs, cursing his smoking habit. At seventeen he sometimes felt like he was in his fifties, but he couldn't seem to kick it – he figured the world would end before he'd even be able to cut down to one pack a day .

The top of the hill rolled into flat land where he nudged a bush that hugged the edge of the property. He heard the sounds of scurrying and dull tapping on metal and he pushed the thick thorny branches to the side to reveal the trap he had laid. A brown rabbit cowered as he reached for it and he caught it by the thick skin at the back of its neck to ease it out of the cage. After resetting the trap he headed toward the house, the rabbit wriggling in his loose grasp.

The Hounds had quieted so he ducked inside the trailer that he had been staying in for the past few years. He hadn't changed it much from the way that Merle had left it; he scoffed at the idea - he was still tiptoeing around his older brother and he wasn't even here.

Picking up the bucket by the sink he tossed it onto the small counter then made quick work of bleeding the rabbit with one stick to its neck. It went slack in his arms and he placed it into the bucket and left it in the fridge.

Outside the Hounds circled the back mudroom that extended from the rear of the house. He pushed them roughly to the side and stomped up the wooden steps, their planks so worn and water logged that they felt like they might cave in underneath him. The laminate floor inside wasn't in much better condition and he kicked the peeled and exposed plywood roughly with his boot – his grandmother never let him use the front door.

He found her in the kitchen leaning against the counter, a long, thin cigarette perched in the valley between her index and middle fingers. She trembled as she took a long drag, her eyes watching him, hawk-like, over the crest of her hand.

Daryl kept his eyes low and he waited for her to begin one of her regular tirades about how he could never do anything right – how he was a good for nothing, just like his father, like Merle. Instead, she released a slow breath and reached back to flick ash into the sink where she was thawing a whole chicken, its head draped loosely over the tap.

He opened his mouth to ask what she was thinking about when the toilet down the short hall flushed and a door opened.

"Been a long time since I had a private place to take a shit," a male voice called. Daryl's head whipped towards it in recognition even before a lanky form appeared in the doorframe. The man paused and pushed back the hair that had come loose from his greasy pony-tail. He offered Daryl a firm nod, "Son… the county said I'd find you here."

Daryl felt the muscles in his arms tighten and he turned to look at the tiles that peeked out from under the stove. In his periphery he saw his father shift his weight, and then his grandmother took another drag from her cigarette.

"What? You don't got nothin' to say to your old man?" his father lifted his hand and took a step forward.

The swift motion triggered Daryl's body and he flinched involuntarily. His shirt suddenly felt too tight, like it was sticking to his back, tearing at the sensitive skin there that had hardened into thick, long white strokes.

"Ain't no need for that, son. I ain't gonna do nothin' to ya," the older man dropped his hand and planted his muddy boots onto the ground. Daryl looked to the worn soles and frayed laces and wondered if they were prison issued.

"Your daddy is gonna be stayin' here for a while," his grandmother spoke up, putting her cigarette out in the glass ashtray that she kept on the windowsill over the sink. "He'll take the trailer… I don't want him in the house. You'll take yer old room for the time bein'. The good Lord wouldn't have me turnin' him out. We're all God's children." Without making eye contact, she turned her back to him and picked up the chicken. Its neck cracked under her strong hands as she wrung it then popped it out of place.

Daryl jammed his hands in his pockets and took a step backwards, keeping his head low.

"Say welcome home, daddy," his father picked up an army green canvas bag from underneath the wall-mounted phone.

Pursing his lips Daryl took a wide step back to avoid any contact with the man as he passed to go outside. The kitchen felt like someone had vacuumed the air out of it and he looked to his grandmother 's back in disbelief.

XXXX

Daryl slept curled up on the narrow bed in Trapper Joe's cabin with the baby snuggled into his chest, her fist hanging loosely from her mouth. He woken often through the night to check her head and her breaths, nervous that her fall had caused internal damage. She seemed to have already forgotten about the events of the day, though, and he was grateful for her short memory.

Turning his neck, he rested his cheek against the crown of her head, and then closed his eyes again to block out the early morning light. Judith stretched and yawned before waking, her limbs trembling with the strain. She offered him a sleepy smile and reached up to close her hand around his nose, her tiny fingers holding a surprising amount of power. He snorted and pulled back when her fingers found their way inside his nostrils and Judith laughed at the sound, reaching for him again.

Closing his hand around her tiny one, he pushed her hand away and looked down at her. "So ya really don't mind that I was a real asshole yesterday?"

The baby grunted, pulling her feet up, and then stretched them out again to rest against his belly. She struggled against his hold on her and tried to turn over. Sitting up, he lifted her with him and sat her on his lap. Judith grasped onto his thumbs, her tongue covering her bottom teeth as she looked around the room, wide-eyed.

Daryl used one hand to continue to brace her back and the other to pop the snap buttons on her outfit. He eased the material back over her shoulders and he peered at the smooth fleshy part of her torso that covered her ribs. Using his fingertips, he traced the distinct thumbprint outlines that discoloured her skin and he felt his throat tighten.

Judith had tilted her head down to watch his exploration and she rocked, reaching for his hands, giggling.

"I did that to you," turning on the bed he dropped his feet to the floor and stood, depositing her onto his hip. "You're supposed to hate me." Judith bounced in his arms and babbled around her chubby fist, her eyes never leaving his face as he went to the windows to peer outside . They seemed to be in the clear, so he decided that he would just feed her and then get moving – he didn't want to be around if the small herd returned.

Judith took her bottle eagerly, and he fed her one handed while he opened cans of flaked chicken and mixed vegetables for himself. He sat on the floor with the baby on his lap and ate the unheated food straight from the cans. Judith watched him curiously, a thin stream of formula and saliva dripping off her chin and onto her bare chest. She dropped her half- empty bottle and let it clatter to the floor, then reached up to slide her fingers over his chin and hooked his bottom lip to pull his mouth open.

Daryl allowed the action, and he watched her face curiously as she inspected his half-chewed food. He stopped her when she moved to put her hand all the way into his mouth. "You're a disgusting creature, ain't ya?"

The baby offered him a smile and her chest inflated as she squealed and flailed her hands. Daryl swiped his sleeve over her chin to clean it up before looking at the cans thoughtfully. He scooped up some vegetables and mashed them into the spoon with his thumb before pinching them and pushing them into her mouth. The baby sucked on the solids for a moment before swallowing them and reaching for the spoon again.

"Not sure if yer supposed to be eatin' this, but," he put some chicken and vegetables on the spoon this time and mashed them together, "I guess it'll be easier if we're eating the same thing."

The baby didn't take much more of the solids and he offered her bottle back to her. She drank, her head tilted against his bicep while he scarfed down the rest of his meal. When they were finished eating, he pulled out another outfit for her and a fresh diaper.

He laid her on the bed, his spoon clasped in one of her hands while he poured bottled water onto a rag. She was manoeuvered easily out of her pyjamas and he washed her face and neck carefully, his eyes fixed on hers. When it came to washing her chest he hesitated before forcing himself to look at the bruises that he had left there.

Every part of him screamed to avert his eyes, to somehow unsee the physical evidence of his own temper.

"Maybe I ought'ta find you someone else," he muttered, peeling her diaper back to finish washing her off. "Someone else who can take care o' you right." Securing her diaper in place he rested his hand over her chest, so gently that he could barely feel her soft skin against his rough calloused palm. She squirmed against his feather-light touch as she tried to turn over, twisting her body at the waist. Daryl watched her, listening to the sounds of her frustrated grunts, and he felt his heart twist.

He'd promised her pa that he would take care of her. He'd promised her that he wouldn't leave her. Maybe he'd made a mistake. Maybe some promises couldn't hold their own weight.

"I don't want you to grow up thinking that it's normal… that it's okay for people to hurt you," he smoothed his hand over her cheek and turned her face to look at him. "And if I ever do it again – you kill me, y'hear?"

Judith squealed as he began working her limbs into her outfit; she struggled against the process and wrapped her legs around his wrist and jabbed at him with the spoon, though he could tell by her jerky movements that she was not intending to brandish it like a sword.

"Yer a natural 'lil ass-kicker, huh?" He plucked the spoon from her grasp and tossed it on the bed before she put her eye out. "Next time get the Geeks instead?"

XXXX

"Pass me that there, boy," Will Dixon nodded to the ashtray that perched on the arm of the couch where Daryl sat. Reaching out with yellow fingers, he snagged the ashtray from his son's extended hand and placed the small glass dish on his own thigh. Daryl watched it waiver against the soiled, worn denim and he waited for it to fall to the carpet – at which time he would probably get the blame. His lip curled and he took another puff of the joint in his hand and held the smoke in his lungs, enjoying the feeling of floating away.

Daryl turned his attention back to the TV and watched the screen through half-closed lids.

"I wonder who done shot JR, after all," his dad muttered, putting his foot up on the table. "Bet that there bitch, what's her name… Ellen… Mary. What were it again, Daryl?"

Daryl sighed, "Sue Ellen… and it wasn't. You dumb or somthin'? We already saw who did it like twenty years ago. Maybe you oughtta lay off the meth there." Getting up, Daryl tossed the bud of his joint into a beer can on the coffee table and started from the room. He was stopped by a vice-like grip on his wrist. He flinched as the glass ashtray came out of nowhere, swiping him across the eye. He felt the skin over his cheekbone bust open, which was immediately followed by a warm oozing sensation.

Daryl's hand shot up but froze mid-air next to his ear. His wide eyes met his father's dull ones as he tried to slow his breathing. Giving his wrist a shake to free himself, he dropped both his hands. "Too old for that bullshit, lemme tell you somethin'," he took a step back and headed for the kitchen, reaching up to check the damage to his face. He winced as his fingers came into contact with the cut. "Goddamn asshole."

"Ain't never too late to put yer own in their place," his dad muttered. "Got me a lotta years to catch up on."

The screen door screeched open and Daryl looked over his shoulder to see Merle enter the house, dressed in one of the numbered shirts that he was given when he was released from jail. Daryl rolled his eyes at the grey shirt, wondering if there was a gene that made people born with no shame. "On account of you being a dumbass who got yourself locked up," Merle crossed the room and crouched in front of the TV. The heavy knob clunked as he turned it, changing the channel.

Daryl turned to watch curiously, his hands resting on the back of the old couch, opposite where his father sat. "Whatcha lookin' for?" he asked, watching curiously as his older brother set the TV to the news station, then settled back on his folded calves, watching the screen.

The three men watched in heavy silence as they absorbed the emergency broadcast.

"That ain't even possible," Daryl muttered, watching the footage of a mob of drunk-like people attacking a family in the street. He felt sick at the sight of them tearing the shrieking family apart , eating their flesh.

"The dead are walkin', little brother," Merle got to his feet and started moving around the room, collecting baggies that had been shoved into vases and behind his grandmother's knickknacks. "And we gotta get the fuck outta here."

Daryl shook his head. "Dead people don't just get up, Merle."

His older brother chuckled, "but I bet'chu still believe in that Chupacabra of yours, don't you? I don't see your dilemma."

Their father cleared his throat, "What'd they think was gonna happen," he jabbed his finger at the screen. "You let a nigger run the country, let the fags get hitched, the spics come up in here, take all our work - and this is what happens. Fucking world was askin' for it."

Daryl stepped back and his brother passed him on the way into kitchen. "Where are we goin'?" He asked, following Merle into the other room.

"Atlanta," Merle tossed a green military issued duffel bag to Daryl. "They fortified part of the city and set up a safe zone. Pack up and I'll meet you outside. We'll take the pickup, and we'll toss my hog in the back."

Daryl twisted the canvas in his hands before nodding and going to the unfinished basement where he'd been sleeping for years. He stepped over the mattress on the floor and started collecting his things. He tossed his weapons into the bag first, then some clothes. On his way out he grabbed his crossbow and stepped outside.

He was sweating in the humidity of the early October air by the time Merle came out of the house, his own bag slung over his shoulder. Daryl had already lifted the bike into the back of the truck; he tossed his bag in as well before slamming the bed closed. Merle kept his eyes low as he rounded the pick-up and climbed inside.

"Let's go, little brother. I want to clear the roads before all these other dumbasses clog 'em up." Merle started the truck and leaned across the seat to flick the handle and push the door open.

Casting a final look back at the house, Daryl slid inside onto the bench seat. He looked to Merle with his silent question.

"He ain't comin'," the other man jerked the truck into gear and guided it out of the yard.


	5. Chapter 5

Sweat glistened on his toned arms and face as his warm skin baked in the hot Indian summer sun. He tossed his wrench over his shoulder in the general direction of his tool-box, striking its already dented side. The tool clattered to the chipped gravel-covered ground, kicking up the tiny rocks and dust. Daryl lifted his head to watch the cloud of powdery dirt settle back down. The summer had dragged on well into August and he predicted it would push through into September too, further punishing the already suffering woods. The creek bed had dried up in the wake of the shrinking water, turning to dry caked earth that cracked into open parched lips, desperate for moisture. His Grandmother's neglected plants sat on the porch, shrivelled in their clay pots.

At the end of the road he heard the rumbling of an engine, followed by squeaky breaks and the heavy sigh of a large vehicle coming to a stop. Daryl straightened up and turned away from his bike to peer down the drive.

A figure appeared over the crest of the sizzling pavement and Daryl squinted, watching it draw slowly closer until he could make out the man's face. He turned his back on the scene and picked up his oil rag, taking deep steadying breaths. The gravel behind him crunched and a heavy shadow fell over him. He looked up slowly, swiping hair and sweat off his forehead with his forearm.

"You got big, little brother," Merle offered him a cocky grin, opening his arms.

Daryl looked away, swallowing the mixture of emotions that welled up inside his chest. He had never wanted to hug and hit someone so badly all in the same breath. Instead of doing either, he smoothed his hands over his denim-covered thighs and picked up his wrench again, trying to keep his shaking hands steady. "That's what happens, I guess," he muttered, turning the tool over in his hands. "You back for now? Or are you back?"

"Discharged last month," Merle pushed his bag off his shoulder and let it drop. Daryl watched it collide with the ground then flicked his eyes back up to his brother's face for a second that wasn't quite long enough for him to really see him. He turned back to his bike to keep himself busy.

"You graduate high-school yet?" the man behind him asked, shuffling his feet.

Daryl coughed, "you wanna stop kicking up all that dirt?"

Merle gave the ground another kick before stepping around to the other side of the bike and crouching down. His thick fingers reached out to touch the down tube. "So?"

Daryl sat back on the ground and rested his hands on his knees. "I wrote a test. Got a scholarship…" He kept his eyes fixed on the wrench, his thumb turning the nut slowly, closing the jaw.

"That ain't what I asked you," his older brother rested one arm on the back tire and leaned in.

Daryl lifted one shoulder.

"You're an idiot, throwin' that away," Merle scoffed and reached into the tool-box.

Digging his palms into the ground, Daryl pushed himself back onto his feet. "Ain't the only one hangin' around here," he nodded toward the house. "He got out coupla' months ago. Showed up. Took up residence in the trailer… gettin' real comfy back there."

Merle squinted, his mouth forming an even line. "How bad is he?" When he didn't get an answer, he sucked his teeth. "Well, I wasn't anticipating a reformed man, if you know what I mean. Prison didn't never do me much good."

Daryl shrugged again and snuck a peek at Merle out of the corner of his eye. It seemed like time and distance had changed the man before him – or maybe he was looking at him through a different set of proverbial lenses. His older brother had changed physically: he was more filled out, firmer, aged. He seemed more still and calculated, almost dangerous. Daryl could still sense the tension just under the other man's placid exterior and he wondered what it would take to set him off. "How about now?" he cleared his throat to ask the question. "Are you ameliorated?"

Getting to his feet, Merle chuckled. "Weren't nothin' wrong with me in the first place, little brother."

Daryl grunted and turned his head to follow Merle's movements. He watched silently as his brother opened his bag and began pawing through its contents. Eventually he pulled out a slim leather pouch and extended it to Daryl. "Got this for you when I was overseas… It's – well I saw it and thought of you."

Accepting the gift, Daryl kept his chin low. He felt embarrassed at his brother's gesture, but he worked the twine binding free anyway then reached inside to pull out a yellowed knife, intricately carved from what looked like bone. The handle had been shaped into a man's face, its features twisted into a grimace. At the top of its head, the tip of the handle was a triangular hat with details whittled so finely that it seemed impossible to have been done with human hands. The handle fit perfectly into Daryl's hand as he moved to inspect the three-sided blade.

"It's called a Kila… I picked it up in Tibet, that's one of those Chinese countries. Lot's of," Merle reached up with one index finger to pull and elongate the outer corner of his right eye. "They use it for meditation and shit like that, and for exorcisms. You see, those chinks think that if someone's got them a demon or evil in them, you can use that there to hold it after it's been expelled."

Daryl turned the knife over in his hand one more time before sliding it back inside the leather pouch. "It was…" pushing the gift into his back pocket he turned back to his bike. "Thanks, I guess. For thinkin' about me, and shit."

The sound of Merle's bag rustling was the only sound for a few moments, and then his brother's hand rested on Daryl's shoulder for a moment before he stepped around the bike and headed for the house, his pack thrown over his shoulder. "I'm takin' that bike, little brother. Let's call it a welcome home present," Merle hollered over his shoulder and he disappeared inside.

XXXX

When they passed through town they went building to building to collect supplies. Daryl found a thick full-piece winter coat for Judith that had built in booties, mittens, and a hat. He wrangled her into it like she was some kind of octopus, and then sat on the floor of the children's clothing store panting with his efforts. Judith moved stiffly in the outfit and screwed up her face in dissatisfaction.

"I know… I don't much care for sleeves neither," he slid his hands behind her back and lifted her to his chest. "But it'll keep ya warm and I'm pretty sure this shit is Walker proof," he muttered, flicking his thumb over the fabric. With her bundled more appropriately for the weather and stuffed back inside her sling, Daryl stepped outside into the main street. He glanced at the few Walkers that stumbled around and didn't spot any immediate threats. His eyes settled on the rusted flip down garage door that he had painted in exchange for the bike he'd gotten when he was sixteen. It was the first time he'd earned his own keep and the feeling of pride still sparked inside his chest when he inspected his work.

The paint had worn away over the years - especially around the hinged joints - but he could still see what a fine job it had been. Of course, he hadn't been able to hold on to the bike for more than a summer before Merle claimed it. Shuffling with the heavy load of the baby and his pack, he crossed the street and brushed black dirt off the window to peer into the neatly kept garage. With one final look around he kicked the latch on the door, releasing the lock that had been broken for more than a decade or two. With practiced ease he slid his foot between the concrete and the rubber seal and pulled up. It creaked in protest along rusted rails, but slid up enough that he could duck underneath before the Walkers had time to react.

The air inside was stale and he coughed on the dust that filtered in the early sunlight. Moving quickly, he made his way into the small office in the back and started digging though the drawers. A barely-there smile swept his lips as he looped his finger through a metal ring and lifted out a single key. Backtracking, he stepped back into the garage and opened a door to a smaller work-room. His eyes settled on a black tarp in the corner and he crossed over to it, buzzing with excitement.

Pulling the plasticized fabric back he revealed a vintage bike, gleaming in the light cast by a small skylight. Daryl ran his hands over its polished handles before sliding the key into place. Judith shifted to accommodate his legs when he climbed onto the seat and she peeked her head up to look at him curiously.

Using one hand, he pushed her back down into place and held her to his chest to keep her from startling when the engine roared and chopped. Moving quickly, he walked the bike to the back door. Reaching forward he knocked the security bar out of place and pushed the door open. The frame was a tight squeeze but they made it out into the back alley where he took a quick glance around before gunning it.

He took the milk-run out of town and wound his way through the small clusters of villages and neighbourhoods. The bike rumbled underneath him and he breathed in the country fresh air that was bitterly cold as it whipped through his hair.

Judith had cried at first, her face buried into her mittens as she curled into him. The bike drowned out the sound though, and Daryl let it. He was right when he figured she would get used to the sound; she'd fallen asleep at some point, her head lulled against his chest, bouncing each time the bike hit a rough patch of road.

Eventually he left behind the long stretches of farm roads and ducked into more narrow ones that were hugged tightly by dense forest. The trees in this part of Georgia seemed ancient to him, sturdy and thick enough that they barely felt the breeze. He breathed in the earthy scent of pine and rich dark soil, feeling calm settle over him.

The rusted wire fence that marked his Grandparents' property was barely visible in the tall grass that had begun to brown with the changing seasons. He knew that if it were summer time, the small ditch would have been carpeted with purple and white wild flowers, and ivy that wound its way around chipped wooden fence poles and the tin war-time mailbox.

Daryl eased the bike around the corner and up the long drive towards the small house that had been set far back on the property. He spotted its crooked roof first as it appeared over the small swell in the gravel road, and then the rest came into view as though it were rising from the earth. Two windows that sat evenly on each side of the door, closed off by wooden shutters. Daryl stopped the bike several feet from the porch and looked around. When he was satisfied that there were no Walkers in the vicinity he cut the engine.

His father's Park Avenue sat closer to the porch, blocking off the detached garage. Daryl ran his fingers over the car's length as he passed it, then lifted his hand to inspect his pollen and dirt-covered fingertips. Judith reached for his hand and closed her fingers around his, as though reminding him she was still there.

Daryl lifted her from the sling and held her to his chest with one arm. He paused to give her a chance to look around, his eyes fixed on her face, watching her lips, parted into a small 'o'.

"Seems we'll be stayin' here for a bit… call it home." Judith responded to his voice by turning her face to look at him. The shape of her mouth changed into a smile and she growled, gumming the already sopping woven fabric of her mitten, her eyes delighted. Her chest heaved beneath the thick fabric of her outfit and she watched him intently, as though actually listening to him. "Yeah, well, it ain't no Snow White's cottage… just a piece of shit house… and maybe an occupant that neither of us should be too happy to be… acquainted with."

Judith continued to watch him, growling in the back of her throat. She laughed, pleased with the sound and Daryl tapped her nose, leaving a dab of yellow pollen on the button tip. "Stop that or I'll think yer a Walker and put you down."

Resigning himself, Daryl stomped up the porch steps, on hand under Judith's bottom, the other spread out across her back, holding her in place. He reached for the handle first, then paused, his fingers inches from the brass knob. Taking a deep breath, he changed his mind and rapped against the solid wood with his knuckles. The house was silent and he strained his ears, listening for movement or any indication that the man who they had left behind more than a year ago was still there.

He took a step back to look at the drive again, but found no tracks besides his own fresh ones. This time he didn't hesitate before twisting the knob and pushing the door open – he registered surprise when it gave way, unlocked. His fingertips resting on the wood, he nudged it further until it caught on the chain. "You here?" he asked, his hand finding its way back to Judith's back. The sound of shuffling from inside made his ears perk and he leaned in closer to listen. "Open up!"

Judith sighed, almost impatiently, and he turned to look at her.

"Never was allowed through the front," he muttered, stepping off the porch again. He made his way around the back of the house, his eyes sweeping the side field where wild lilies sprouted in the early summer, and then the trailer that was covered in moss and tree debris. The door sat ajar and he resisted the urge to step in for a minute. He needed to get Judith inside the house, in case there did happen to be any Walkers in the area. Once he got his hands on his Grandfather's weapons collection they would be set for a while.

He climbed the back steps, careful not to put too much weight on one of the weaker planks. The storm door was unlocked and he slipped inside the mudroom to find a musty smell mixed with decay. Something clattered in the kitchen and he jumped, sucking in a deep breath. Judith closed her hand around his bottom lip, her papery nails digging into his sensitive flesh. Daryl pulled away from her grasp and slipped his knife out of his pocket. The heel of the wooden handle fit snugly against the inside of his wrist and he used his foot to nudge the door open. The kitchen looked as it had the last time he had seen it more than a year before. His eyes swept over the glass ashtray that sat covered in a thin layer of dust on the window sill and his grandmother's apron, shoved through the handle on the fridge.

Lifting his head he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and he looked up, feeling his chest tighten. The hallway that led to the two small bedrooms was cast in shadow, barely lit by the small draped window at the end of it. The figure that appeared there was lean and Daryl squinted to make out the ponytail that hung half-over its shoulder.

"Dad…" Daryl muttered.


	6. Chapter 6

The exposed brick snagged against the fibres on the back of his shirt when he shifted to pull his knees up until they rested against his chest. Curling in on himself, he rested his forehead against the bony curves of his knees and closed his eyes. After a moment he lifted the hand that balanced a smoke between its index and middle finger and took a long drag. The glowing tip lit the torn skin on his knuckles and he winced at the sight of the oozing wounds. He looked around the small mudroom, listening to the sound of a fork scraping against metal through the kitchen door that sat ajar to his left.

In the kitchen his grandmother was drinking a tumbler of rum and eating a store-bought pie straight from its tin pan, her nose buried into the small floral handkerchief that she had been quietly crying into all day. He had become accustomed to her annual mourning ritual when she would cry about the death of his mother – her only daughter.

Lifting his head again he let it fall back against the wall behind him, ignoring the pain that shot through his skull as it collided with the bricks. He closed his eyes, sifting through the scrapbook of memories in his mind, trying to pull out a good one of his mother. He found a fragmented one tucked away and he turned it over as he played it through, examining it. She was sitting cross-legged on the hood of their car, laughing at something he was doing, her hair a golden halo in the sunshine. The memory flickered and faded into a darker one: bruises, the smell of cheap wine clinging to her hot breath, collapsed in her bed for days, stinking like piss and sweat.

The sound of a badly tuned engine and tires rolling over gravel pricked his ears and he stayed quiet, listening to the sound of the car door slam, to heavy, unsteady footsteps crunching, to the house storm door screeching on weathered hinges. His Grandfather muttered something that he could not understand and a chair scraped across the linoleum, making him flinch when his Grandmother's voice punctuated, high pitched and slurred until it was unintelligible.

Daryl closed his eyes, listened to the rage break the tension that had permeated the house, escalating it into another emotion, one that was more insistent, driving. The sound of glass shattering and something heavy toppling over drew a defeated sigh from his tightening chest and he pushed himself to his feet, using the wall to steady himself.

Swinging around the door, he rested his shoulder against its wooden frame and leaned there heavily, watching. A vinyl covered diner chair had skidded to the floor at his feet and the shards of glass that had been the tumbler were sprinkled across the counter and into the sink beneath a sizable dent in the plaster wall.

His Grandmother roared, cracking the back of her hand across his father's face, stunning the room into a silence that lasted seconds before Will lunged at her, his hand closing into a fist that gripped her throat. He backed her up against the fridge, his nose almost touching hers as he snarled.

"Merle!" Daryl yelled out toward the trailer where his brother had been smoking up for most of the day, and then took two long strides across the kitchen to close his hands over his father's shoulder.

Using his full weight, Daryl pulled his father back and swung him around, throwing him off balance before letting go. He watched the man land on the floor in a heap before dropping onto his torso to pin him down, his knees digging into his chest. Over his shoulder his Grandmother had crossed her hands over her chest and she stood gasping, her surprise evident in her wide eyes.

Daryl turned his attention back to his father to find the same expression on his face. His eyes flicked down to his trembling hand that was holding the Kila against the older man's throat, pressing into the sensitive unshaven skin, its twisted face glinting as it grinned up at him mockingly. For a moment he considered pushing it down and tearing into the flesh, drawing the life out of the man who had scarred them all. He imagined what it would be like to bleed him like an animal – to know that he would never come back to hurt them ever again.

Before he could move he felt an arm close around his shoulders, crushing him back against a solid chest. He was hauled backwards and onto his feet where he pushed away from the strong grip that was still holding him. He took a step back to look at Merle, panting, his knife still clenched in his hand. Merle's hand rested against his chest, holding him back and Daryl looked down at his older brother's white knuckled fingers, twisted in his sleeveless flannel button down.

Merle sneered at their father who had not moved from his spot on the floor, and then reached forward without looking, prying the knife from Daryl's fingers. He turned it over in his hand then slid it into his back pocket before giving Daryl a solid pat on the cheek and indicating for him to follow him out.

XXXX

Daryl took a step back, feeling his chest tighten until it hurt to breathe. The shadow-painted figure shifted and moved forward, greeting Daryl with a guttural growl. The baby squirmed against him and he placed his hand across her back in both a gesture to comfort and still her movements. There was no question about whether the man before him was alive or not - the raspy breaths and smell of rotting flesh gave away the corpse as it stumbled down the hall, one arm quaking as it reached for him with fingers that were arched into talons. Daryl's eyes flicked to the hand that remained at its side, its knuckles trailing along the wallpaper, scratching the textured surface.

The counter pressed into the small of his back and he reached for his pocket, his fingers catching the handle of the knife that he kept there. Sliding it out, he flicked it open to reveal a short rust spotted blade. The walker before him stumbled, crashing into the retro table and knocking out one thin stainless leg from underneath it, bringing the veneer top down to crash against the floor. Judith startled at the sound and began to cry, tilting her head back to look at him wide-eyed.

Looking around, Daryl deposited the baby in the sink and focused on the Walker. The knife in his hand was steady as he swept his gaze over his dead father's, the eyes that had once matched his own now transformed; black veins laced through murky whites, like the thick roots in an ancient bayou. His lip curled as a snapshot of Merle's eyes sliced through his thoughts, sending a sharp pain across his still tight chest.

His distraction lasted a second too long as the Walker lunged forward, closed its hand like a vice around the ball of his shoulder, jarring him forward, his bare arm an easy target for its snapping teeth. Lifting his leg, Daryl drove it into the Walker's soft middle with enough force that it tore through skin, sinking his knee into spongy insides. Oily blood soaked into his jeans and Daryl stumbled backwards tripping over his own feet, his eyes widening in surprise as he realized he was going. He landed hard on his tailbone, jarring him and he tightened his grip on his knife with fingers, slick with sweat.

He expected the Walker to come down on him and he lifted his shins up to brace for its impact, but instead of pursuing him further it stumbled forward to the sink where Judith had worked herself into full crying fit, her balled fists trembling. Daryl lost sight of her as the Walker bent over her, its face buried into her chest, its hands closed around her back. Springing to his feet with a raw cry that tore from his throat without warning, Daryl slid one arm around the Walker's head, wrenching it back until it popped and fell as loose as a ragdoll's, swinging from its shoulder, and then rolling to fall against its back, staring at the ceiling. Daryl took a second to notice that its mouth and teeth were void of any blood, and his eyes shot to the baby still clutched in its hands.

Lifting one foot, he drove it into the hollow behind the Walker's knee, forcing the joint forward and knocking the thing's feet out from under it. As it fell backwards he pried the baby from its fingers with a tug and held her with one arm cradling her bottom and the other cupping the back of her head, holding her to his chest. The Walker crashed to the floor at his feet, reaching for him, its head bobbing on a broken neck. Daryl inspected it from just beyond its reach and felt pressure build in his chest until it sputtered from his mouth – a sound caught between a cry, whimper, and a scream. Judith lifted her shining blue eyes to meet his and reached up, her hand closing over his lips. Swallowing, Daryl pressed a kiss to her hand, slow and unsure. Kneeling down he reached for his fallen knife, then froze. He looked to Judith before setting her down behind him, taking a moment to balance her in a sitting position against the side of the fridge. He turned back to the Walker and closed his hand around one of its wrists. Its arm was thin and weak in his grasp and he twisted it easily, snapping the bone like fire kindling, rendering it useless. It flopped at the Walkers side like a grounded fish and he kneeled on it, keeping it in place while he reached for its other arm. Steadying it with one hand he used his other to push back the jacket, revealing the thing that had caught his attention.

The bone knife yellowed since he had last seen it. It was embedded cleanly in the Walker's chest, thrust into the spot between its ribs, deep enough that its blade was completely emerged, exposing only the carved face of its handle – his Kila.

Reaching out, Daryl gripped the handle and pulled it free. He turned it over in his hand, flicking his thumb over its grinning mouth. Taking a deep breath he looked at the Walker's face and he felt unexpected sadness and gratitude as it occurred to him that the Governor hadn't been Merle's only sacrifice on his behalf.

Without feeling any urgency, he placed the tip of the knife in the centre of the corpse's forehead and pressed down, slowly puncturing skin and then bone, sliding it into the Walker's head until it went still, its eyes fixed on the ceiling above them.

Swivelling around, he lifted Judith again and swept his eyes over her chest. Her snowsuit was stained but intact. Laying her down on the floor, he carefully unzipped the outfit and lifted her out of it, pulling her limbs free, one at a time. He held her from under her arms and turned her slowly, inspecting every inch of her visible skin, searching for scratches, bites, or any sign that she had been injured. She sputtered on vowels and constants, drool sliding down her chin as she watched him, her hands reaching out for his face.

When he was satisfied he brought her closer to his chest and rested his cheek on her forehead, closing his eyes with a sigh.

XXXX

Daryl paced the backyard, kicking the beer cans and garbage that littered the trampled grass trail that led to the trailer. His chest heaved with each breath as the adrenaline left his body in even waves, melting the stiff muscles in his arms and legs, turning them to jelly. Reaching up he swept at his face, unsure if it was sweat or tears sticking to his skin, or both. Merle stood silently behind him, his arms dropped to his sides, waiting.

"Yer a real son of a bitch, y'know that?" Daryl turned to him, lifting one finger accusingly. The words came with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of him and he faltered – he'd never had the nerve to speak to Merle like that.

His older brother crossed his bare arms over the soiled fabric of his wife-beater.

"That was mine!" Daryl dropped his hand, letting it fall onto his hip. His heart, once hammering against the inside of his chest like a boat in a storm, battering against the harbour, had stilled as the storm inside him passed through. "You should'a left me."

"To what, little brother? Kill him? Let you throw your life away on that asshole?" Merle asked, his lip curling.

Daryl dropped his chin and cleared his throat before spitting onto the ground at his own feet. The sound of crickets seemed to pick up, filling the dead air around them and he sucked it all in, letting the smell of the woods and wild flowers soothe him.

"Yer a soft boy," Merle said, picking his way towards him. "It'd kill you to kill him," he said simply, stopping when he was inches away, the smell of weed and alcohol overwhelming the earthy scents that Daryl had been focussing on. It made his stomach twist.

He wanted to protest, but he couldn't think of the words to express how badly he'd wanted to end it all - how he wanted to dive head first over the edge and lose himself in the darkness that years of abuse had created inside of him.

"When the time comes," Merle's hand closed around his shoulder, "you won't need to do nothin'." He cleared his throat and shoved Daryl away before ambling towards the trailer.

XXXX

Daryl emptied the small arsenal under the closet floor. There wasn't as much as he had hoped, but there were enough rounds to last him a while. He sorted through them and organized his pack, collecting other items from around the house that he figured would come in handy: towels, preserved foods, matches. Despite the awkwardness of juggling the baby while he tried to work, he kept Judith close, mostly settled in the crook of his arm or in his lap. He wasn't sure why, but he wasn't ready to let her go just yet – not after he'd almost lost her for good.

She kept quiet for the most part, her blue eyes wide with curiosity as he laid the supplies out on the floor in front of them, her stocking covered feet sickle-shaped and crossed in front of her. She wavered in her upright position and he kept his hand on her back to keep her from toppling over.

"See this here?" he held up a brass coloured cylinder. "There here is a .38 special load – woulda' fit in that little Colt your mama used to carry around." The baby's lips parted and she reached for the bullet. Daryl let her have it and watched her lift it to her mouth in one chubby fist. "Her name was Lori…"

Sweeping his knuckles over her soft cheek he worked his fingers into hers and took the bullet back. Judith whimpered and reached for his hand again. Sighing, he pushed himself to his feet and scooped her up from her middle, her legs dangling free.

Unable to spend any more time in the house, Daryl slept in the trailer, Judith tucked inside his shirt, resting on his bare chest so that he could provide her with the heat from his own body. He stroked her feathered hair and spent most of the night staring at the nicotine yellowed ceiling, listened to the sound of the baby's breaths. The smell of weed, beer - and everything that had been his brother in general, had long since faded from the carpets and furniture.

He wondered why Merle had never told him about what had happened inside the house while he had waited in the truck – and why it hadn't occurred to him before that it was strange that his father had stayed behind willingly. Maybe it hadn't because it didn't have to. Daryl hadn't given his father a second thought because he didn't have to; Merle had taken care of him just like he'd promised.

In the morning he siphoned all the gas that he could from his father's car, filled up the bike, and strapped his supplies to the back of it with bungee cords. Judith, dressed in her Walker-proof snowsuit, was bundled to his chest again as they set out, leaving behind the place where he thought would become their home.

Setting out on the country road that would take them towards the city, then to the highway and back towards the prison, he felt a sense of calm determination. He would look for the others: Rick, Michonne, Glenn - anyone who might have survived. His own steady voice kept him company as he recounted stories of the quarry, the CDC, Hershel's farm. He stored and cataloged them as he spoke, committing himself to sharing them with Judith as she grew older, to ensure that she knew where she came from; who she'd come from. He didn't know if it was possible that the others had lived, but he knew that he didn't want to be alone.

Sliding through the woods, the overgrown trees whipping against his cheeks, he lowered his gaze to the baby who was trying to grasp the thin sliver of his zipper tag, her brown creased with determination.

Not completely alone, he corrected.

XXXX

Complete.

My story, 'The Last Part' is a continuation of this universe.


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